Son of a Milkman
by Rosaliebyrd13
Summary: Harold "Harry" Eagon is no ordinary boy of eleven. At least that's if you can believe what the giant who showed up at the end of Summer break says. He's also, apparently, the savior of a whole secret magical society, and not actually named Harold. Now begins the real adventure, one of magic and friendship and good vs. evil. Luckily, Harry's got a family who loves him.


Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Were Mr. and Mrs. Dursley to play a significant role in the story about to be told it might be useful to know what they looked like, Mr. Dursley with his large mustache and larger stomach and Mrs. Dursley with her giraffe like neck and bulging eyes perfect for peering over garden fences and into kitchen windows. It might even, in such a case where significant time was to be spent with the family, be useful to know that their son Dudley was a roly poly little monster who they treated like a prince. Were this story to involve the Dursleys in any way whatsoever, it might be useful to know that the family of three had a secret, a secret that involved Mrs. Dursley's younger, freakish sister and her freakish husband and their small freakish son.

In another story all of this information might have some use, but this story really only involves the front porch of the Dursley family home and so really there is no further need to speak about the un-pleasantries of Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley.

Instead, this particular tale will spend a significant amount of time with a different family, the Eagons, and so it is of some importance to know that their lives were quite quiet and happy, both before and after the events of November 2nd, 1981. Dan and Maureen Eagon, of number 9 Cowslip Cross, had never really thought about themselves in terms of 'normal' or 'freakish' but if they had they probably would have agreed on a not-too-strict interpretation of the former. Dan was a tall man, a lanky man, with sandy hair, brown eyes, and the hands of a man who had worked every day of his adult life. Maureen was short and the perfect shape for motherly hugs, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes that often looked upon her family with patient humor. Like the Dursleys, the Eagons had a son, Wyatt, but rather unlike Dudley Dursley Wyatt Eagon was seventeen years old with the humor and eyes of his mother and the hair and spirit of his father. As a small boy, Wyatt Eagon had wanted nothing more than to be exactly like his father, though over the years he had decided on a different career path. Dan Eagon was a milkman, you see, and Wyatt rather liked the idea of being a teacher.

On the morning our story starts, a Wednesday, Dan Eagon arose early and kissed his sleeping wife's cheek, as he did every morning, before catching a ride with his friend Bill to the distribution center in down. Once there Dan, no longer yawning thanks to a stiff drink from his coffee thermos, picked up his truck and loaded up his deliveries for the day. As he drove through the darkened streets of Staines-upon-Thames he hummed quietly, content to revel in the calm lonliness that embodied the early hour. House by house, door by door, Dan dropped of milk by route and picked up empty bottles by habit.

As he worked his way out of his own town and into the next one he wondered what he might make for dinner that night. Maureen had some kind of meeting or another with the town council and so it would be his night to make sure they didn't starve. Perhaps a nice curry? he pondered as he pulled into the outskirts of Little Whinging, a suburb of a suburb where the youngest and snootiest families lived, if their milk habits were to be believed. Wisteria Walk was dead as Dan went door to door setting down bottles of pasteurized goat's milk and ethically sourced buttermilk and regular 2% for those that hadn't yet caught on. By the time his truck rounded on to Private Drive, Dan Eagon was strongly considering springing for takeout, just to reward Wyatt, who had been working so hard in school lately. So caught up in planning dinner was he that he almost didn't notice the baby.

The baby, or small toddler rather, was resting peacefully, wrapped in a thick blanket, on the front stoop of number four, Privet Drive. Though it was still quite dark out, and the babe was bundled rather securely, Dan thought that he could see a thick thatch of jet black hair and one tiny fist, worked free of the blankets. For a moment he froze, milk still in hand, shocked at the sight. In all his years as a milkman, and he had been a milkman for a great many years, Dan Eagon had never delivered milk to a house with a baby on the porch. He'd never even heard of a baby being dropped on a porch, outside of old wives' tales told by aunts around the Christmas table. So it was quite a shock for him to see one here, of all places, in this neighborhood. For a moment all Dan Eagon could do was stare in profound confusion. Who, he thought, who would leave a baby on a stoop in this neighborhood, at this time of morning, in this season? Who would be so stupid?

The wind gusted and Dan shivered, pulling his fleece tighter around him. On the stoop the baby stirred, obviously feeling the same November chill. Dan blinked, and in a moment his mind was made up. He set down the milk, organically sourced whole, picked up the baby, and headed back to the truck, neglecting to see the letter that had been blown during the course of the night into the shrubs. Once settled into his truck, the babe nestled into a milk crate and strapped as securely as possible into the passenger seat, Dan Eagon picked up his shortwave radio, and called his distribution supervisor.

"Charlie," Charlie answered the call.

"Hey Charlie it's Dan." Dan greeted. "I'm gonna need coverage for the rest of my deliveries."

"What for?"

"Gotta bit of an emergency on my hands mate," Dan radioed back. "Gonna need to bring my truck back and call out for the rest of the day."

"Again, what for?" Charlie's voice crackled back.

"Found a baby." Dan replied, looking over to his new passenger, sleeping soundly despite the feedback. "Prolly gonna take a while to sort this out."

 **I wrote this as a birthday gift to myself, just because I've always liked the idea of Harry being raised by a well-meaning milkman as a member of a happy little family. The parts that J. wrote are obviously hers, obviously. Let me know what you think!**


End file.
